


Dick and Damian's Day of Fun

by HK44



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Clubbing, Damian Wayne Feels, Dancing, Dysphoria, Family Fluff, Fluff, Trans Male Character, trans!damian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-17 11:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HK44/pseuds/HK44
Summary: “Clubbing.”Damian’s eyes snapped open. “What?"Grayson threw a pile of clothes at him. “Dick and Damian’s Day of Fun. Midnight to midnight, I’m gonna keep your mind off feeling bad.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a trade I did w/ my Batman loving nerd friend Metaljupiter. In return she drew me [THIS!!](http://www.furaffinity.net/view/23177133//) (It's so good, I cry)

 

It was just turning midnight and Damian was still awake.

He’d asked to be excluded from patrol that evening, claiming exhaustion and weariness and luckily Father had relented. Maybe it was the way Damian had sunk into the floor the moment Father’s voice seemed to pitch in protest or maybe it was from the deadness that shone in his eyes, so emblazoned into his skin that even Drake could see it.

Damian had turned in around eight, content to cipher around for a bit before truly and honestly heading off to sleep.

Then the feelings set in.

They’d been there for a few days now but he’d been able to fight them back. Push them to the back of his mind. Fend them off.

He was having trouble doing that now.

It was probably the source of his sudden weariness, his sudden exhaustion, the leeching defeatist feeling of “not good enough, never will be” that was numbing around the back of his mind. He tried meditation, tried blanking out his thoughts, tried to think past it all but in the end, it didn’t work.

And now it was midnight, four hours later, and everything was hitting him full force.

His skin crawled. His body felt alien. Unnatural.

Incorrect.

He buried his face into pillows.

He was tired of feeling incorrect.

Something rapped at his window. Damian glanced up. Grayson was standing on the ledge of his window in full Nightwing gear. He waved joyfully and Damian scowled. Reluctantly he crawled out of bed and shoved open the window.

“Grayson, what are you doing here?”

“Heard you were sick,” he said, shoving past Damian and into the room without asking. “And since you don’t get sick, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“So you deviated from patrol?”

“Can you deviate from something you haven’t started yet?” Grayson asked and Damian rolled his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. He gestured broadly to the window. “Now leave and go save some… _damsel_ from the Riddler or whoever’s out tonight.”

Grayson snorted. “Can’t I save this damsel first?”

Anger flared at the back of Damian’s neck, hot and miserable. “I’m not-!” He stopped, exhaling harshly and looking away. “I’m fine, Grayson. Go away.”

Grayson eyed him softly. “You’re not sick, are you?”

“I never said I was,” Damian grumbled, crawling back into bed and burying his face into his pillows again.

“So what’s up?” Grayson settled at the edge of Damian’s bed. “You never take patrol off. I mean-” He rubbed his face wearily. “-I think we have to convince you more often than Bruce to take a night off.”

“I’m tired.” Damian’s voice was muffled through the cloth but Grayson let out a little laugh.

“Really? Didn’t look it to me what with all the hopeless staring at the ceiling and punching your pillows.” He flopped out next to Damian and stared at him. “What’s up, Damian?”

Grayson was always safe. Even when no one else was, Grayson was trustworthy.

Damian had always found that he could be open or closed and Grayson wouldn’t be hate him. Wouldn’t dislike him for what he chose to say or not to say.

Damian titled his face, pressed his cheek to the warming side of his pillow and eyed Grayson. Slowly the words slipped out of him. “I don’t feel right.” He closed his eyes. “In my body.”

“Okay,” Grayson hummed. He propped himself up on his elbow, hand to his cheek. “I’m gonna help.”

Amused for the first time since the day began, Damian snorted and asked, “And how, Grayson, do you intend to do that?”

“Clubbing.”

Damian’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

Grayson was hopping off the bed, pointing at him. “Put on some clothes, I’m taking you out.”

“Words, _Richard_ ,” Damian snapped. “Explain.”

By his dresser, Grayson was rooting around in the uppermost drawers. “Look, there’s not a lot of stuff that goes on this late at night- or early in the morning, I guess – besides an influx and constancy of _crime_ , so we’re gonna go to a club because they’re always open and then after we’ll do some more crap but today is our day.” Grayson threw a pile of clothes at him. “Dick and Damian’s Day of Fun. Midnight to midnight, I’m gonna keep your mind off feeling bad.”

Pulling a pair of pants from off his face, Damian quirked an eyebrow. “And if you fail to do that?”

“I’ll punch Tim,” Grayson offered, nonchalantly.

Damian considered it for all of two seconds before snapping, “Fine.”

Grayson’s face burst into a wide grin. He fished around one of his internal pockets. His phone glinted as he pulled it out. “Great, lemme just tell Jay to take my spot tonight and then I will get changed and then our day will begin!”

“The day’s already begun!” Damian argued at Grayson’s retreating back.

All he heard in response was Grayson’s gleeful laughter and heavy steps bounding down the hall. A sprite of hopeful pleasantness sunk into his chest, thick as a peach pit. He swallowed and collected his clothing into his arms, relaxing as he readied himself for the new day.

* * *

 

“Every reasonable sixteen year old has a fake ID,” Grayson said, so matter-of-factly Damian would’ve believed him if he didn’t already know how much of a _lie_ it was.

“Father won’t like this,” Damian huffed, stepping under Grayson arm and into the tattoo parlour.

“If Bruce has an issue with me getting you a fake ID, then you think he’d’ve told me when I got them for everyone else.”

Damian stared at him. “What?”

Grayson scratched his cheek. “Tim, Cass. Duke asked for one the other day.” He frowned. “You know, I never got to give one to Jason.”

“Drake asked you for a fake ID?” Damian asked incredulously.

“Mmm. He wanted to see an R-rated movie with Kon and Bart.” Grayson waved at the man at the counter. “Willy! Hey. Need a favour.”

“Lemme guess,” Willy began, sitting back in his chair. “Your friend here, who’s _totally_ of age, lost their card and needs a quick fake because they really need to get into a bar to, uh-” He stroked his beard before fingergunning at Grayson. “-save their long lost love from marrying someone else?”

“Yep!” Grayson said as Damian sputtered, “ _What?_ ”

He’d heard _a lot_ of cock and bull stories before but this definitely took the cake.

Willy winked at him and tugged out a pen and pad from a drawer. “How old?”

“Twenty-two,” Grayson said easily.

Adjusting his glasses, Willy glanced Damian over and then looked at Grayson. “You sure? Could probably pass for nineteen better.”

Grayson shrugged. “Twenty-two’s more believable once you start talking to him though.”

Scowling, Damian crossed his arms. “Do you regularly consort with criminals, Grayson?”

“Willy is a CI I used to have in Bludhaven,” Grayson explained, leaning on the countertop. He glanced down at the paper Willy was scribbling on. “He’s five straight.” He glanced over his shoulder at Damian. “Still one twenty-three right?”

Damian huffed but nodded.

“Yeah, I was a snitch,” Willy said easily. He cracked his wrist. “And then I got tired of all the death threats so I moved out here and got another job as a squealer with the Gotham PD on the word of a _wonderfully_ budding police officer in Bludhaven.” He knocked Grayson’s shoulder with his fist, grinning. “What’s the name?”

Desperation leaked in Grayson’s voice as he immediately begged, “ _Dante Thunderstone._ ”

“ _Grayson_ ,” Damian seethed, a threat evident in his tone.

Even Willy looked unamused. “Dick, no matter how many times you ask, I am not giving anyone that name. They’d be caught in a heartbeat and I don’t believe in poor business.” He gestured at Damian. “Name?”

Damian scratched his wrist. “Um… Amir al-Ghul.”

If Grayson was bothered, he didn’t show it and Willy scratched out the words on his paper. “G-H, Willy,” Grayson corrected quietly.

Damian relaxed.

“Alrighty, lemme just snap your pic, do my magic and you will be all good to go in about fifteen.” He raised an eyebrow. “’Less you wanna tat?”

“Just the ID, Willy,” Grayson laughed.

Smirking, Willy shrugged. “If you say so.” He pulled his curtain to the side and gestured for Damian to step into the room.

The room smelled of antiseptic wash and light dye. Damian wrinkled his nose but stood at the empty wall. Grayson leaned against the doorway, the curtain falling against him. Willy muscled around in front, pulling a camera to the forefront of Damian’s focus and adjusting it.

“Okay, now, look at me, look at me, and-” The flash went off, blaring at Damian’s eyes. “Perfect!”

Damian blinked rapidly. Willy was already pushing the camera back into its place in the corner. He disappeared out of the room without a second word. Grayson grinned cheekily at Damian baffled expression.

“Willy believes in quick service,” Grayson explained. “It’s why he never got caught for the first five years of business.”

Damian snorted and exited the room. Fourteen and a half minutes later, Willy passed him a new ID. Despite the timing to take it, the quality was so spot-on that he doubted even Father would’ve noticed it was a fake without more than a few minutes to look it over.

“Thanks, Willy!” Grayson said at the doorway.

“No problem, Dick,” Willy said pleasantly, sitting back on his stool and flipping open a book.

Gesturing out the door, Grayson said, “And now, _Amir-_ ” He bumped Damian’s arm, smiling. “-off we go.”

* * *

 

Damian could hear the music pounding from the club of Grayson’s choice from three blocks away. The music just thrummed heavier and louder with every step they took closer. Eventually, it was all but blaring tonelessly.

Damian wondered how people didn’t go deaf sooner if _this_ was all they surrounded themselves with.

Grayson, on the other hand, was eager and excited. With every step, he took he got livelier and livelier. Hands in his pockets and bouncing to some inane rhythm in his head.

It’d be amusing if he didn’t keep smacking into Damian’s side.

It was pitching just past one o’clock in the morning. Damian kept a watchful eye out for Father and his following but they never passed by. And if they did spiral by when he wasn’t eying upwards into the dark abyss of sky, no doubt they’d simply think him a random college student ready for a night of self-imposed “fun”.

He wasn’t ashamed of being out late or being out at all. He just… didn’t like being denoted a liar. Or being seen somewhere like… _this_. And who knew what Grayson had told Todd to get Red Hood to go out in Nightwing’s place anyway.

The bouncer at the doorway glanced them over as they neared the entrance. “ID?”

Grayson flashed his and it took Damian a few minutes of rummaging to pull his out of where he’d shoved into in the deep pockets of his jacket. The bouncer took it, glanced over at Grayson and snorted.

“You know, you look an awful lot like that Wayne kid,” the bouncer said, handing the ID back to him. “The young one, I mean.”

“So I’ve been told,” Damian said.

The bouncer rolled his eyes but gestured them in. “Don’t let him drink, Dick.”

“I’m not that horrible,” Grayson laughed, ducking in beside Damian and letting the door fall shut behind him.

Damian glared at him. “Have you done this with everyone?”

“Nah!” Grayson shouted over the booming of music roaring out from the speakers. “Just Cass! She wanted to see how to masses danced to things! Pick up some moves!” Grayson jived awkwardly beside Damian, seemingly spasming.

“So what was the point of the ID, then?”

“Well, if he let you in without, then he’d be held liable,” Grayson said airily in Damian’s ear. He tugged on Damian’s arm. “C’mon, we’re gonna dance!”

“I don’t dance, Grayson!”

Grayson just laughed and pulled Damian in close to him as they rounded closer to the walls. “So you’re telling me the League pretty much taught you how to everything but drew the line at dance?”

Damian scowled. “I can waltz perfectly fine, Grayson. I _choose_ not to.”

“You’re _choosing_ to be a spoilsport is what you’re doing, Dames.” He booped Damian’s nose and smiled. “C’mon! It won’t kill you!”

Damian feared it would.

Grayson dragged Damian nearer to the center of the dance floor, bouncing sporadically out of tune to beat of the song. Awkwardly, Damian glanced around, trying to figure out what to _do_. The League taught him how to dance but not how to _grind_. Men and women raking their hips together, thrusting like a group of animals. One girl bobbed her head from side to side as she twirled around, laughing amongst friends. There was no sense of timing, no sense of end.

He didn’t see the enjoyment of it. Or the thrill.

Just hot and sweaty bodies _moving_.

He wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms, scowling until Grayson stopped his overly twitchy movements and stared at him.

“You seriously can’t dance?” Grayson laughed, sounding somewhere between genuine amusement and mild horror.

Damian jerked his head to a group of rowdy boys kicking their legs out and shuffling. “Not like that.” He frowned and glowered at Grayson. “Why would I _want_ to do that?”

Grayson snorted. “Damian, just-” He sighed and held out his hands. “Gimme your hands.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Grayson sighed, shaking his hands out. “C’mon!”

Gritting his teeth, Damian collected Grayson’s hands in his and frowned more when Grayson started jumping.

“Jump!” Grayson ordered, playfully. “Seriously! If you can’t dance-” He exhaled breathily, landing firmly on two feet and smiling wide. “Just jump.”

Damian sucked his teeth but took a breath and started jumping. Embarrassment crept up the back of his neck as he did, holding Grayson’s hands like a fearful child. Soon after Grayson started up again with him. His eyes fluttered shut and he looked at peace.

For the life of him, Damian didn’t get _why_.

There was nothing energetic about it. Nothing inherently fun.

He tightened his grip on Grayson’s hands and tried harder, ducking his head down and _jumping_ as the bass mellowed out into another song. He hit the ground, pushed off and was weightless for all of a second and a half. When he hit the ground, the music played once more.

_Thunderous._

And it rattled through his core.

He felt the way the speakers thrummed the music out, the way it burst into his skin, into his veins, spindly and booming. He hit the ground against and the bass hit him once more.

A small bubble of laughter echoed from his throat.

Okay.

So maybe it _was_ starting to get a little enjoyable.

He timed his jumps to the timed beat of each bass hit, liked the way it rattled up under his feet, rocketing through his bones. He could feel the music in his chest, in his heart and felt _explosive_.

 _Electric_.

_Alive._

Awake for the first time that week.

Grayson’s eyes shifted open and he started pumping Damian’s arms back and forth, his own feet twisting and scuffing against the floor. Damian stayed with his jumping. He liked the sense of it. The rush of the air.

And there was no one _staring_. No one whispering. No one looked _at_ him, just through him, over him, around him. He was a senseless name, a random body. Everyone was there to relax, to breathe, to jump and dance and no one cared _what_ or _who_ he was.

He liked that.

Felt more in-tune with himself than he’d had in weeks. Less awkward in his growing skin.

He bared his teeth and _grinned_ , wicked sharp and pleased. Anonymity had never been Damian’s strong suit, not in the beginning at least. In the League, he was _known_. Feared. His mere presence was understood with details and backgrounds. He was _believed in_ , like a god. They whispered his name, daringly, as he passed by.

They knew his story, they knew of him.

But Gotham was much different.

He wasn’t known, wasn’t understood. He had to explain himself at every point, hide away bits and pieces that people wouldn’t approve of and hold his tongue. He disliked it, always had. The hiss of obscurity bore strongly at him. He had to both fight for and cower from the limelight.

In the League, everyone was ascertained to him. In Gotham, no one was and the difficulty in maintaining a knowing existence while never letting anyone _see_ him was harsher than he’d ever thought possibility.

But here, in the low light and the thumping bass line, he couldn’t care less who knew him. Who saw him and wondered his name, his life, his _legacy_.

Grayson howled into the open air, cheering with the nameless and faceless masses. Intoxicated by the adrenaline coursing the room, Damian followed suit. The sound drowned in the noise and his throat grew raw. He laughed, squeezing his eyes shut. His feet hit the ground.

The bass line soared.

And he felt alive.

* * *

 

It was just after five in the morning when the club finally closed. Out the doors and down the street, Grayson, sweaty and still laughing brightly, left Damian to jog quickly over to his car. Ducking in through the backseat doors, Grayson snagged a green gym bag. Then he dragged Damian over to the nearest twenty-four hour gym. The conditioned air cooled the wet heat that bordered Damian’s skin. He sighed in the feeling, panting gently.

Grayson grinned at him. “So? Not as _immoral_ and utterly boring as you thought, huh?”

Damian snorted, shoving him. “It was alright, Grayson.”

Grayson slung an arm over his shoulders and tugged him in close. “C’mon, let’s get a shower.”

Once Grayson had slipped the weary receptionist a few twenties, he pulled Damian over to the bathrooms. There wasn’t anyone around except for the receptionist and a couple people squeezing in a morning job but an uneasiness still clung to his skin as Grayson tugged open the door to the men’s locker room.

When the door clicked shut behind him, tension spilled out of his back. There was no one else in there but the two of them. He swallowed and relaxed. While they made their way over to the line of shower stalls, the sound of their shoes against the tile clattered in his head.

Damian’s fingers fiddled at the edge of his shirt. In front of him and oh-so-easily, Grayson stripped down. Fully nude and stepping into the shower, he pointed somewhere vaguely to his left. “Towels should be hanging up over there.”

Damian glanced over and saw them. His hands splayed over his thighs and he breathed out slow. Collecting a couple into his arms, he turned back to the benches and waited for Grayson to finish up.

After a few quiet seconds, Damian asked, “So what else do you have planned for today, Grayson?”

“It’s a surprise!” Grayson called out over the water.

“Which means you’re making it up as you go along,” Damian surmised.

The stall door slid open and Grayson pointed a soapy hand at Damian. Water droplets and flecks of soap hit him the face.

“Don’t sass me, baby _brat_ ,” Grayson huffed. “I’ve got plans. I don’t half-ass _everything_.”

Damian rolled his eyes but said nothing. Grayson pulled the door back shut and Damian waited, feeling slightly gross and sticky now that the high of adrenaline was shifting down and the beat of the cool air was drying him in a less than appealing way.

Minutes later, the water shut off. Damian passed Grayson a towel and moved into the stall as Grayson shifted out. The tile was wet and the leg of his pants were quickly growing soaked. He didn’t really care.

Being naked in front of others wasn’t something he planned on doing any time soon.

“Grayson!” he yelled, throwing his clothes over the door of the stall.

As the water turned back on, a steady stream, he heard Grayson’s annoyed yell. A quick _flump_ of cloth followed on the sound’s heels. Damian smirked and quickly scrubbed the stain of sweat and alcohol-infused smoke from his skin.

After washing the soap out of his hair, he turned off the water and tapped twice on the stall door before moving it to the side, ever so slightly.

Through the crack, Grayson passed him a towel. Damian began drying off. Unfortunately, the steam kept him slightly damp. He scowled and shoved open the door. Grayson was, as kindly as ever, turned around and staring intently at the ceiling, hands brandished on his hips.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what made those little bumps you see in the concrete sometimes,” he said airily.

Leaving his towel rest over his head, Damian yanked on a pair of jeans. “It’s a mixture, Grayson. It helps to reduce sound.”

“Interesting,” Grayson said, though the tone of his voice was the same as it was when he was listening to Father or Drake go on about something to do with Wayne Enterprises. “Very cool.”

Damian rolled his eyes, sidling through the rest of the gym bag. “It really isn’t.”

He snatched his cleaner and fresher binder out and began tugging it over his head. The end of it rolled into itself and he swore as he was suddenly stuck.

This was why he didn’t like to rush these things.

“ _Fuck_. Grayson!”

“Yeah?”

“I require your assistance,” he bit out, turning around and still trying to move his arms.

“What do you- _Oh_! Geez.” Grayson’s fingers slid against his back and grabbed the rolled end of the binder, pulling it out and down to the mid of Damian’s back. “There we go.”

Damian shifted and pulled his shirt over his head, somewhat embarrassed and a little mortified.  “Great!” he breathed quickly. “What now?”

Grayson quirked an eyebrow. “Relax, Damian. I have seen-”

“If you say “every one of your siblings naked”, I will throttle you,” Damian hissed. Grayson lifted his hands. “Don’t sign it either!”

Laughing quietly, Grayson slung his arms around Damain in a quick hug. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Damian.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Grayson.”

“It is,” Grayson agreed. He squeezed Damian gently and pulled away. “But I’m your brother. I know what you are, naked or not.”

“I appreciate the ill-motioned sentiment,” Damian huffed, crossing his arms. “So what _is_ next on this day of fun you’ve proposed?”

“It’s a surprise!” Grayson insisted loudly, shoving their other clothes in the gym bag and grabbing the towels off the benches.

“So you’re still making things up as you go along?” Damian hummed.

“Okay, watch me unplannedly decide to slap you later, Damian,” Grayson threatened, pointing viscerally at him as he chucked the towels into an empty cart. “ _Watch me_.”

Damian waited a few seconds before saying to Grayson’s retreating back, “You do know that’s not a word, right?”

“ _Damian!_ ”

* * *

 

Evidently, Grayson’s surprise next move involved climbing up a fire escape towards the roof of a nearby apartment complex.

“Here.” Grayson grabbed his arm and tugged him the littlest bit he needed upwards.

Damian stumbled across the roof and glanced around before settling calmly beside Grayson, who’d brought his knees to his chest. “Sometimes,” Grayson started. He paused. Took another breath and plucked a growing leaf from atop the rubble. “I used to come up here a lot. When I was a kid.” He fiddled with the leaf. “I had a fear of heights for a spell but it didn’t last and the first thing I did when it passed was sit on top of this roof and watch the sunrise.

“There’s just something about it that’s just… ya know…” He licked his lips. A grin quirked on the edges of it. “Dawn of a new day. Beginning of something _fresh_.” He swallowed thickly and glanced at Damian. “Hope.”

Damian nodded, understanding. Shifting, he sank into Grayson’s side and relaxed further when Grayson tucked an arm over his shoulders.

The sky remained dark for the first few minutes. Dimly, the stars were seemingly beginning to blink out. And then slowly, oh-so slowly, the sun pitched over the horizon.

He could see it, the sun, rising, bright and warm. And it was slow. But the sky was shifting shades of pinks and red and it was gorgeous in a way he couldn’t denounce or forget. Sloughing over the skyline, the sun shined and the sky grew lighter and lighter every minute that the sun slid upwards.

Admist the trees, birds were taking flight, coursing across the sky in dark formations. The moon was slowly slipping away. Clouds turned softened pinks and purples in the warm glow. Somewhere a rooster crowed its ungodly “good morning”.

And in it all, the world seemed to be burning anew. Waking up and breathing cleanly again.

There was something… oddly inspiring about it. Despite the beatings and the bruises sustained through the night, despite the annoying tick the city had, it would continue on. For better or for worse, as long as the sun rose every morning, Gotham would _live_.

Damian shifted closer into Grayson’s side and exhaled slowly.

“It’s beautiful,” he said quietly.

Grayson laughed. “I know, babybat.” He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Damian’s head and held him closer. “I know.”


End file.
